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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213373">As Far As Apologies Go, It Could Be Worse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost'>MsThunderFrost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Steve Harrington, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Apologies, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Established Relationship, Fights, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Billy Hargrove, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:34:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He laughs, brokenly. It causes his ruined lung to ache, but he does it all the same, because much as he wants to, he can’t blame the fact that he and Steve had broken up late Monday night on the little shitstains. They’d been cruel, unnecessarily so, and they’d stuck their little noses where they didn’t belong, but it’s not like they’d said anything that Billy hadn’t told himself one-thousand times over. </p>
<p>Turns out you can still be a worthless SOB, even when you (almost) die to save a bunch of ungrateful bastards’ lives. It’s kinda funny. It also makes him want to sob. </p>
<p>AKA</p>
<p>Steve and Billy's relationship is accidentally outed to the Party. The kids take it poorly, and Billy tries to be a good person and breaks his and Steve's hearts in the process.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Break-Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Billy fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> heat tampons. Never had to use them before the stupid Mind Fuck had taken it upon itself to scramble his insides. But now, a year and twelve days after the Battle of Starcourt, the doc had finally cleared him to stop taking round-the-clock suppressants (whoop-de-</span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span>-do) and he fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>swears</span>
  </em>
  <span> his body is all too keen to make up for lost time, because he’d woken that morning in an actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>river</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his own slick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three days out from his fucking heat, and he’s already leaking like a goddamned faucet. Not to mention the fact that it feels like good ol’ Mother Nature is taking a weedwhacker to his insides. Because cramps are apparently a byproduct of an interdimensional space monster attempting to snack on your kidneys. He’d kind of just wanted to curl up and die, but when he’d rolled over onto his side to curl up in the fetal position to try and dull the cramping (just five more minutes, that’s all he needs), his fucking mattress had </span>
  <em>
    <span>squelched</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So here he was, sitting on the toilet with a pack of Susan’s heat tampons in hand, chewing on the filter of a cigarette he can no longer smoke and hating his goddamned life. The garishly pink packaging promises ‘comfort’ and ‘maximum absorbency’. There’s a diagram on the back, with a smiling omega demonstrating how to safely insert the product. Susan’s on the other side of the door, having decided that </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the opportune moment to actually try her hand at mothering－Billy’s doing a rather good job of ignoring her, until she takes it upon herself to ask if he’ll still be up for babysitting tonight and the plastic package falls out of Billy’s hands because… </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t babysit the twerps－just Max, sometimes, though she’s almost fifteen now and fully capable of watching over herself－that’s Steve’s domain. And honest to Christ, he’s really just not in the goddamn mood to deal with them after… He laughs, brokenly. It causes his ruined lung to ache, but he does it all the same, because much as he wants to, he can’t blame the fact that he and Steve had broken up late Monday night on the little shitstains. They’d been cruel, unnecessarily so, and they’d stuck their little noses where they didn’t belong, but it’s not like they’d said anything that Billy hadn’t told himself one-thousand times over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turns out you can still be a worthless SOB, even when you (almost) die to save a bunch of ungrateful bastards’ lives. It’s kinda funny. It also makes him want to sob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he pops out one of the thick, plastic applicators and stares at it like it might somehow find a way to poison him. He wants to ask what the hell happened to Steve, but he already knows. Knows Steve reamed the kids good and proper for the way they’d treated him, after everything. For making Billy feel like he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good enough</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Steve, or some other shit. Max had told him about it. Said Steve’d cried and everything. He’d made a quip about how it didn’t take much for the princess to turn on the waterworks and Max had pouted and crossed her arms and called him the fuck out on his bullshit. And Billy, well－</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not like I care what you little shitstains think of me. But for some unfathomable reason, Steve likes you. And I lo－like Steve. So until you stop looking at me like I’m the devil incarnate, we ain’t getting back together, Maxine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” He says, all dramatic. It’s not like he has an actual choice－he never does－but pretending takes away a bit of the sting of being voluntold. He sticks one leg up on the toilet and bends like a fucking contortionist and grits his teeth when he’s overcome by a particularly vicious round of cramps he can feel in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “D-Don’t suppose you got anything in here for cramps?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s been two hours since you’ve taken your morphine, you can take two of the ibuprofen in the cabinet.” She says, “I’ll put a bag of rice in the microwave for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bag of </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> now?” But Susan is already long gone, and Billy sighs. This day officially sucks ass.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The doctor had agreed to take him off of the suppressants on the condition that he had an alpha ready, willing, and able to help him through his heat. He’d rattled off a whole slew of possible complications (which, really, at this point, Billy is just waiting for his body to spontaneously combust because he’s never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile</span>
  </em>
  <span> before, but now his lungs fill with fluid for no fucking reason and his abs are all but gone because fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sit-ups</span>
  </em>
  <span> make him feel like he’s being stabbed and－) that Billy’d barely listened to, and, well…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the heats, y’know. Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> miss being overwrought by the primal urge to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> for three to five days every three months? Yeah, he’s a slut for Harrington’s knot. Anyone with half a brain would be. But like… if they’re gonna have a weekend-long marathon fuck, he wants it to be because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, and not because his baser instincts are telling him he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To be desperate and weak and </span>
  <em>
    <span>needy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To need to be split open on some knothead’s thick, juicy cock. And Billy fucking hates the idea of </span>
  <em>
    <span>needing</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone (except Steve－Steve made his heats… tolerable, never made him feel less-than). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he also kind of misses </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Because nothing’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> since the Mind Fuck took up residence inside of him and turned him into a human-fucking-</span>
  <em>
    <span>spit roast</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the middle of the Mall. And heats are, annoyingly enough, just that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor had conveniently neglected to mention the cramping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So if he’s just kinda laying there, under the weird-ass bag of rice that Susan had microwaved for him, chomping angrily on his last piece of mint gum whilst he reflects on the glory days (also known as two and a half weeks ago, when he was still on suppressants and still had a boyfriend) when the kids arrive, well… he never told Susan he’d be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> babysitter. He can feel the goddamned heat tampon shift inside of him every time he breathes, and while the packaging had promised maximum absorbency for even the heaviest flow, he’s pretty sure that he’s one good sneeze away from activating a motherfucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>geyser</span>
  </em>
  <span> between his legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> of sneezing makes his chest </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wants a cigarette. He chomps harder on his gum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” because apparently Billy’s secretly a masochist－and just because he knows what happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t mean he fully grasps how </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people ended up with babysitting duty－he asks, “would any of you little shits be so kind as to tell me how I ended up with babysitting duty tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kids share a horrified look, like he’s just skinned a fucking cat in front of them or something, before Henderson mumbles, “Steve, uh… He made it quite clear where we could go, for the foreseeable future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah. So the princess had grown a backbone and told the kids to go to hell. Interesting. And also not the answer that he’d been looking for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He… told us that you broke up with him, ‘cause of what we said. About, y’know, that night at the Byers’－,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“－and being possessed by an interdimensional space monster－,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s eye twitches. Yeah, that one had definitely been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>low fucking blow</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“－and, well… just your general douche-y-ness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy sucks in a breath and rolls over onto his side. He tries to look intimidating, but then the fucking bag of rice falls off his abdomen, landing on the carpet with a dull thunk, and he just sighs. “Can it, wouldya? I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I don’t need a fucking play-by-play.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then fucking Henderson comes at him with, “It’s not fair! You did a real shitty thing, and like, I can’t even be </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you for breaking Steve’s heart, ‘cause you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be nice－and isn’t that the real mindfuck right there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy stares at him blankly, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth the risk to take two more Ibuprofen so close together. He hasn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>eaten</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet today, considering that just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> of food has him feeling like he wants to retch (not that he would ever let precious Susan know he was taking his morphine on an empty stomach, because even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows that that’s fucking stupid－but then again, nobody ever accused Billy Hargrove of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now did they). The kid looks like he’s about to shit himself, is probably wondering if Billy’s planning to gut him and serve him for dinner. ‘Cause, you know, he’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s what monsters </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except… y’know, he fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay? He tucked his tail between his legs and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>apologized</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the shit he’d done to them. He’d gone out of his way to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>to them. Fuck it－he’d fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span> for them! And all that little </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mike Wheeler could say when he’d found out about him and Steve was</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘it’s not because he’s a guy, it’s because he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>Billy’. You’re not good enough because you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In what world is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed to fucking tear him up inside? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bites his lip, shifts his eyes to the ceiling, and counts backwards from one-hundred until the stinging in the corners of his eyes begins to abate. He cried once in front of these little shits. He has no intention of doing it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sad,” there’s a girl－Hopper’s girl－leaning over him, studying him curiously. She scrunches her nose, kinda like a rabbit, and her eyes flit down to Billy’s stomach, “The heat from the rice helped the pain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, it’s not that hot any－,” except she’s pressing the bag against his lower abdomen, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot, almost uncomfortably so. He frowns; he didn’t remember ever seeing her leave the living room, so when had she..? “Okay, that’s… T-Thanks, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles at him, bright as the sun. “Good brother. Good </span>
  <em>
    <span>mate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” And Billy doesn’t really know what to do with that, because clearly he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good mate if he’s been rejected by his alpha’s fucking rag-tag pack and－</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We… made arrangements to have you watch us tonight because we wanted to… apologize.” Wheeler looks like he might actually have a stroke. Hopper’s daughter smiles at him encouragingly. “Steve cares about you, for some unfathomable reason, so you can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely</span>
  </em>
  <span> awful－,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the shitting fuck kinda apology is that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Max rolls her eyes, “What he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say is that we shouldn’t’ve stuck our noses into your relationship.” Max hadn’t spoken out against the relationship that night, but she also hadn’t tried to defend it, either. And Billy knew she felt like shit for keeping her trap shut, because she hadn’t shut up about the whole thing since she’d found out about the break-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That.” Wheeler deflates a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we’re really fucking grateful for what you did back at Starcourt. And we wanted you to know that we think you’re alright.” ...Not to ruin such a tooth-rottingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment, but he thinks this is the longest he and Max have gone without screaming at each other. Ever. This is getting uncomfortably weird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re pack.” The Byers’ kid whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if Billy’s eyes start watering (he is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> crying, thank you), the kids are－thankfully－all too terrified to comment. But the kids are all humming in agreement, still a little wary－there’s a blur of pale skin and all of a sudden he feels the inside of mini-Hopper’s wrist rubbing up against his scent gland. Max makes her way around the side of the couch, feeling particularly brave, begins to nuzzle her cheek into his dirty blond curls. The other kids aren’t quite so bold, but it’s not long before he finds himself being scented by each member of the Party, being adopted into this mismatched, rag-tag little pack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s weird, because he’s never </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pack before. Unless you considered an omega and his little sister, who hadn’t actually presented yet, as a pack (it absolutely was). So this is… overwhelming, to say the least. But also kind of… nice? It would be nicer if his insides weren’t still trying to rearrange themselves every goddamn time breathed. He knows he’d feel better if Steve were here, and he should probably tell him what’d happened so he and the shitstains can kiss and make-up and the kids can go back to staying six feet or more away from him at all times, but… he kind of doesn’t want to get up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s definitely not because he’s kind of enjoying being touched without malice by people who have every right to hate him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> the cramps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then… the fucking phone </span>
  <em>
    <span>floats</span>
  </em>
  <span> over to him, the cord stretching over the back of the couch so he can comfortably reach the handset and mini-Hopper is smiling at him, all knowing. “Call Steve.” She encourages. He looks at her, the phone, her again… then sighs, and starts to dial.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He somehow survived being impaled by a giant interdimensional space fuck. Some things just don’t have to make sense. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Makeup</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s not like Steve’d just been sitting next to the phone for the last five days, waiting for Billy to call and tell him that he’d had some time to really </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> on everything that’d happened and he’d decided he wanted to get back together. Or, better yet, that he’d been sitting, waiting for something to snap him out of what was proving to be a neverending nightmare; that he’d wake tomorrow to find Billy in his arms, to find that </span>
  <em>
    <span>none of this was real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except… he knows that it’s real, because Billy had closed off their bond to him. He can’t feel him, and hasn’t been able to feel him since a few hours before Billy had suggested that they take a ‘break’. He’s not entirely sure what that is supposed to mean in the case of a bonded, mated pair, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not being able to talk to, to touch, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look at</span>
  </em>
  <span> Billy for the last five days has been absolute torture. Not knowing if he’s alright, or if he’s wrapped the goddamn Camaro around a tree－</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the phone rings, he doesn’t move to answer it. The only person he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear from won’t call, and so he lets the call roll over to the answering machine as he contemplates whether or not its worth the energy to walk into the kitchen and fix himself something healthy for dinner when the idea of a pizza, drenched in grease, calls to him like balm for his broken heart. He’s just started reaching for the phone when Billy’s voice comes over the speakers, sounding just this side of peeved that he hadn’t answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, he had Caller ID. No, he hadn’t bothered to check it. Sue him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you need something, Billy?” He prides himself on keeping his voice mostly level when he grabs the phone off the receiver mid-tirade. The effect is ruined, however, when he sniffles </span>
  <em>
    <span>loudly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Think you might need a tissue there, pretty boy.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a muffled sound, kinda like Billy cupping his hand over the handheld, before he yells something to the tune of ‘turn the goddamn volume down or I’m flushing the remote down the toilet’. Yikes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“So, uh… I apparently got roped into babysitting tonight and</span>
  </em>
  <span>－,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve frowns, a few stray tears dripping from his lashes, “Is that the only reason you’re calling me? To come get the kids outta your hair?” It’s better than nothing, but… He can’t help but wish that it were something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s silent for a long time. Just as Steve is beginning to wonder if he hung up, Billy sighs, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Look, this is embarrassing as fuck, but… I’m havin’ real bad stomach cramps. The shitbird seems to think I’m havin’ separation anxiety</span>
  </em>
  <span>－</span>
  <em>
    <span>which is bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>－</span>
  <em>
    <span>from bein’ away from m-my alpha so close to my heat. So… yeah.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Shit－okay, um… I’ll be there in twenty－no, fifteen minutes.” He starts grabbing anything and everything he thinks he might need, “Are you using a hot compress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you think I’m fuckin’ new</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Billy huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you don’t usually get cramps with your heat, so… yeah?” He’d probably learned everything he knew about it in a fucking crash course from Susan, before she left to do whatever it was that was so damned important she’d leave a hurting, hormonal omega in charge of six teenagers. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, well, mini-Hopper is keepin’ me well-stocked on hot compresses. And if I take anymore fucking NSAIDs I’m gonna give myself an ulcer.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then, in the background, ‘you know what－just for that, we’re gonna watch the fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Girls</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outrage is immediate, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t even like the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Golden Girls!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Look, I really don’t give two shits if you little fuckheads wanna watch </span>
  </em>
  <span>Knight Rider</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Keep it the fuck down while I’m on the phone, or I’m turning on </span>
  </em>
  <span>Golden Girls </span>
  <em>
    <span>and flushing the remote. That’s your last goddamn warning.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be there in fifteen. With chocolate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He may’ve broken approximately six different traffic laws on his way in, but he makes it to the Hargrove-Mayfield house in a little over twelve minutes, with just about every type of chocolate that the convenience store on the corner had to offer. He lets himself in with his spare key, surprised when the house falls silent the second he steps into the door. Everyone turns to stare at him, as though they’re deer caught in the headlights of the Beemer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone, that is, except Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is laid out on the couch, his shoulder-length dirty blond curls spilling over the armrest. El and Max appear to be in the middle of French braiding his hair, which is equal parts adorable and horrifying. Billy must feel like actual shit, to let the girls touch his precious hair. Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t touch the mullet, for crying out loud! Dustin was in the middle of opening a bag of freshly popped popcorn, and had proceeded to spray the buttery kernels </span>
  <em>
    <span>all over</span>
  </em>
  <span> the floor in his surprise. Mike and Will are watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knight Rider</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>quietly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Lucas is handing the girls various supplies with which to style Billy’s hair. What the actual－</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I… accidentally walk into an alternate dimension?” Billy cracks one dark blue eye open, before making grabby hands at the bag of chocolate. “Ah, I see how it is. You only want me for my chocolate.” He sighs, dramatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy rolls his eyes, “Come down here, wouldya? The girls’ll bitch if I move too much and mess up the ‘do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve obediently comes around the coffee table, watching as Billy unwraps a Snickers bar and takes an obscenely large bite of the chocolatey confection. “Since when are you a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> babysitter?” Billy pouts, tossing his wrapper in Steve’s general direction. “Seriously, ba－Billy… you’re not exactly an ace with kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you. These little shitstains </span>
  <em>
    <span>adore</span>
  </em>
  <span> me.” Billy says, shoveling down another massive bite of chocolate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good mate.” El says, combing her fingers through Billy’s curly hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’re you </span>
  <em>
    <span>still so far away</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Billy whines, reaching out to grab ahold of Steve’s wrist and tug him down so that the older teen is </span>
  <em>
    <span>laying on top of him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And that’s－Okay, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> had not been expecting that. He arranges himself carefully, to ensure he won’t hurt the omega when he falls. “If it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> separation anxiety, you’re gonna need to be closer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C-Closer?” A traitorous blush begins to climb the thick column of his ivory neck to stain his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm…” Billy purrs. “Practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And okay, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait a minute</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s really just not fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They’re not even officially back together, and Billy’s already trying to jump his goddamned bones. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In front of the kids, </span>
  </em>
  <span>no less. The kids that, in case he’d forgotten, were the entire reason that they’d broken up in the first place and－ It’s then that he notices that Billy smells… </span>
  <em>
    <span>different.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Like, there’s still the lingering scent of tobacco (even though he’d stopped smoking almost a year ago, the scent would always linger and Steve… was surprisingly okay with that－tobacco didn’t smell good on many people, but on Billy it was like a fucking high-end perfume), mint, and cherry cola. But now there’s something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s staring at him like he’s a goddamned idiot, and you know what, maybe he is. But it takes Will repeating that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Billy is pack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, along with El’s earlier declaration that Billy is a good mate, for him to put together that the kids fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>scented</span>
  </em>
  <span> his omega. And then he’s crying </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s done so much fucking crying over the last several days, his eyes ache, but he honestly cannot remember the last time that he’d been this happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was when the doctors had told him that Billy had taken his first breaths without the ventilator. It was when the doctors finally started acting like there was a goddamn chance that Billy was going to pull through. And Steve… Steve had known all along that Billy would survive. Billy was a fighter－if </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> could do it, it was him. But to see the doctor smile, to hear his heart monitor continue to beat steadily as his chest rose and fell </span>
  <em>
    <span>on its own</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the first time in weeks?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, he didn’t think there was anything that could quite live up to that feeling. But this… this was pretty damn close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So apparently, the kids think that we should get back together.” Billy says, all nonchalant, as he lets Steve burrow into his scent gland to hide the tears that’re pouring down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Well, that’s awfully nice of them.” Steve sniffs, wrapping his arms around Billy’s middle and squeezing as tight as he dared. Which isn’t too, too tight, considering the various injuries… and the cramps. “But, y’know, I’m far more interested in hearing about what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> want?” Billy hums, considering. Then he leans over to whisper into Steve’s ear, “I wouldn’t be opposed to bouncing on that fat knot of yours. I have an actual river of－oh shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is surprisingly strong for someone who hasn’t worked out in over a year. He manages to send Steve flying off of the side of the couch, and El and Max tug at his hair as he suddenly jerks up and makes a beeline for the bathroom. Which is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> disconcerting at all. He flinches when the door slams shut, before looking to the two girls for help. They shrug. Steve sighs, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket and handing the last twenty over to Lucas, instructing him to order pizza (he’s willing to bet that they haven’t eaten yet－Billy’s actually a very good cook, but he hardly seems in the mood to do much more than lounge about, and if the cramps really are that bad, Steve really can’t blame him). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the other kids are distracted, bickering over what kind of pizza to order, Max makes her way over to him. “You’ll win some major brownie points if you get him a change of clothes from his room. He’s having a bit of a… </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve frowns, “Is he… okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s eyes dart to the rest of the kids in the kitchen, who seem to’ve made up their mind about what to order. “Just… check his bed, you’ll understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Check his bed? What the hell is that supposed to mean? But that seems to be all that Max is willing to tell him, so… Steeling himself, he makes his way down the hall, opening the door to Billy’s room, only to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> assaulted with the overwhelming scent of </span>
  <em>
    <span>slick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Totally unprepared for the onslaught of omega pheromones, he can feel himself start to grow hard in his jeans. Which is… </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Bad. Very, very bad. He can’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop a knot</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a house full of teenagers, that’s just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. On so many levels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs a pair of clean, plaid boxer briefs and a pair of basketball shorts and races out of the room like it’s on fire. He slams the door closed behind him－none of the Party had presented yet, but he didn’t want anyone else smelling </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> omega’s slick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thick, translucent globs of nectar that drip from his omega’s quivering hole, to slick his strong, tanned thighs… God, if he’d already made that much of a mess in his sleep, he could only imagine the mess he’d make of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>drooling</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Steve’s knot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk to the bathroom feels like it takes an actual year. He hopes to fuck that the kids stay occupied for just </span>
  <em>
    <span>five more minutes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to hide this boner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy, baby?” He knocks on the door, “I brought you some－,” he lets out a startled, high-pitched yelp with the door swings open and a hand snakes out to drag him inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the lock on the bathroom door echoes behind them. </span>
</p>
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